


Baldur's Infinity War

by Von_Siegfried



Category: God of War (Video Games), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-11 18:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17451965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Von_Siegfried/pseuds/Von_Siegfried
Summary: Baldur awakens in a strange new land. Desperate for a way to break his curse he comes to blows with the strongest beings in this new realm. He shall fight Man, God and Titan. Win or lose, he'll make sure this new realm bleeds for the God of Light.





	1. Midgard Mishaps

Baldur groaned as he sat up, his bones cracked as his body repaired the damage caused by the giant. He is disappointed, and angry. He underestimated that giant, got himself killed and most of all… he was made a fool of and that… that infuriated him.

All he wanted was answers but that giant had to act proud and refused to cooperate.

But Baldur admitted, he enjoyed it, the battle with that giant. He never faced a jotün before—his brother felled the entire race.

Would have been better if that jotün turned all big and lumbering, he would have liked to test his mettle against that.

He quite liked it—fighting, looking for those _strong_ enough to make me him feel. It was one of few things he still found enjoyable since that _witch_  devoid him of all sensation, to feel and taste.

He clenched his fists and growled, Fath-no... the Allfather gave him a mission he so desperately wants to complete, the promise of a way to break the curse is an opportunity too hard to pass and it may have slipped away all because of that giant.

Now he would have to prove to the Allfather that he is capable of completing the mission, lest that old bastard sends some other Aesir—his brother—do what Baldur failed to do.

No, he wouldn't allow that. He'll pass whatever trial that old bastard gives him.

After he passes the trial he'll come for that giant and whoever else was in that house and he'll show...

Them...

Baldur blinked and cursed. It seems that the giant disposed of his body…elsewhere as he doesn't recognize where he is, in front of him was a 'mountain' of… things. Walking closer to the monstrosity in front of him he examined it, touching one of the objects he could see dirt and rust flaking off on his finger.

Another 'mountain' caught his eye, the monstrosity twice as large as the one in front of him, looking around him there was another, and another and another. He felt both enraged and disgusted, the giant disposed of his body in a landfill, he disrespected him. Baldur, the God of Light.

He roared in anger, plucking a slab of metal from the ground he smashed it against the trash heap. Pieces of junk flew everywhere and landed back down on the disgusting ground, splashing foul murky water on Baldur as one landed on a puddle.

That giant infuriated him even more.  
To insult a god… most especially, _him_. _Baldur_. He smirked, he’ll enjoy hurting that jotün a second time.

A whirring noise caught his attention, he smirked at the prospect of a fight, he needed to blow off some steam before he returned to Asgard, he wouldn't want to destroy the place by fighting his brother.

Turning, he didn't expect, that the source of the noise was a big… thing barreling towards him. It was still miles away but with his keen eyes he could make out what it looked like. It was black on white, square and wings jutted from the body with glowing circles present at the wing tips.

The hideous beast was fast, reaching Baldur in less than two seconds. That impressed him, even his dragon wasn't that fast.

Baldur snorted and shook his head, a beast can't take on a god. He'll show the creature. Squaring his body he prepared to take whatever manner of attack it would unleash.

As it got closer, it slowed, stopping to hover only meters from him.

"What the?..." a benevolent creature? Baldur smirked, it doesn't matter he'll rip off its wings regardless.

The beast jerked, Baldur tensed, knowing a wild animal would attack unprovoked.  
He was confused however as hatches opened from the bottom and jutted… feet?

The beast landed its whirring slowly died out, but Baldur remained tense, still expecting a fight.

Baldur heard it clunk and shortly a 'mouth' opened and stood a woman, dark-skinned and tall, her hair pinned back. She dressed oddly, managing to both look hideous and elegant. Making her way towards him, she fiddled with an odd contraption that Baldur didn't recognize.

”Lucky me, two in one day, ” she said, confusing Baldur.

She was already halfway down the ramp when they both turned as a number of whirring sounds made itself known, several more monstrosities flew towards them. They were all even more hideous than the 'beast' in front of him. Their bodies big and square, somehow managing to fly without wings.

It landed close to him, making the same clunking sound as a ramp opened revealing over a dozen men. They exited the vessel and Baldur observed them, they were all clutching the same strange contraption the dark-skinned wench had, their clothing was even more revulsive however as they wore brightly colored dresses that contrasted disgustingly against the dirt and grime that caked them.

From the rabble a man stepped forward, he was 'better' dressed than the others and certainly cleaner.

"He's ours, right boys," he said with a scratchy voice. The rabble roared in unison, answering him.

The woman snorted, Baldur watched her roll her eyes, seemingly unintimidated by the large group. "I found him first. Besides, haven't I dealt with you earlier?"

The leader of the rabble growled. Gesturing towards his men, they all raised their strange contraptions and pointed it at the woman. "We outnumber you, bitch. Don't leave and we eat you out.”

The woman cackled, ”How vulgar.” she trained her contraption at the leader of the rabble.

The air was tense, the younger fellows jittered with nervousness. Those older smirked and looked eager.

And Baldur… Baldur was confused as he watched the scene in front of him, he hated being confused.

He needed to return, to get back to Asgard and speak with the Allfather and do that.

He needed _answers_.

Baldur grinned, he made his decision.

Runic tattoos flickered to life and emitted a bluish-white glow. Light streaked behind him as he rocketed towards the leader of the rabble and grabbed his neck.

The man's eyes widened in surprise and fear as Baldur clutched his neck and squeezed. "Mortal, I have questions that need answering, answer them, I let you and your rabble live. Don't." Baldur smirked, "I tear all of you limb from limb, starting with you." Baldur reached for the man's shoulder and pulled, satisfied when he heard a pop.

The leader's eyes darted from side to side, desperately looking at his men. "S-sh… shoot 'im."

His subordinates stood frozen and hesitant, quaking in their boots. One was courageous enough and pathetically reacted, he focused his contraption at Baldur.

His head snapped back as a bolt of light struck him in his cheek. Seeing this, those who were frozen snapped out of their dazed states and followed the brave fool as they all shot Baldur.

The smell of burnt flesh invaded Baldur's nose as countless bolts of light struck him, he allowed the fools to pepper his body, hoping that he would feel something and only scowled as once again, he felt nothing.

He turned his gaze towards the man in his hand and shook his head as the leader limped lifelessly in his grasp, "You idiot mortals."

Squeezing his hand be chucked the dead man towards a pair of huddled mortals who died instantly from the impact, their weak bodies flopped pathetically to the ground.

Surging towards a pathetic mortal, Baldur grinned when the mortal’s face twisted in agony as Baldur drove his arm through his chest.

Light and blood trailed behind him, limbs and entrails soared through the air as he tore through several more mortals.

"I’ve tried being diplomatic," he growled.

Grabbing a dismembered head he smiled and hurled it at the pathetic cover the mortals used, utterly obliterating it.

He heard yells and barked orders behind him. Twirling, an object was thrown at him, it struck his chest and bounced back to roll on the ground. "...huh?" the thing flashed, it was a strange ball. Picking it up he examined it, his curiosity getting the better of him.

_Boom!_

His ears rang and he was violently thrown back when the ball exploded. He glanced down and examined the extent of the damage. The skin was charred and half his arm was missing, molten metal stuck to his skin and pink entrails could be seen through the hole in his stomach, not that he cared, he couldn't feel it anyways.

Grunting, he stood and fanned away the black smoke that obscured his vision. As it cleared he saw the mortals stare at him with wide eyes.

Light wrapped around his body, he willed himself to heal faster. He smirked at their expressions, the look of fear and disbelief was rampant among them. ”Is that all?”

”...m-monster!” one screamed.

They all scrambled, throwing several more balls at him. He smirked, gripping a pipe he yanked it from the ground and batted the balls back. He enjoyed their screams when they saw their weapons hurdling back towards them and exploded in a blaze of fire.

Baldur huffed, "Pathetic."

The mortals continued to shout behind their mounds, the words they used were foreign to him.

"...canon,” he whispered, humming as the word danced bizarrely on his tongue.

A ship lurched, turning to face it he observed, atop the vessel a hatch opened, a tubular… thing emerged, he groans—he needed to learn the words for these bizarre contraptions. Baldur continued to watch, growing agitated when the thing whined like a whipped dog.

The whining soon reached its apex and it began to glow brightly.

_Boom!_

Baldur skidded back, creating a trench forty feet long. He grunted, seeing his arms and chest mangled. The thing whined once more, Baldur regenerated in seconds and rocketed towards the vessel.

Metal groaned beneath him as he stopped, clamping his hands on the weapon it shrieked as he pulled. His muscles tensed, building pressure in his legs he jumped skywards ripping the weapon from its mount and destroyed the vessel in the process.

In the air, weapon in hand he spotted a large concentration of mortals—a perfect target. Twirling his body once, twice, three times he gained momentum and catapulted the weapon towards them, finding satisfaction that the makeshift meteorite pulverized the fools.

Landing back down with a crash, the ground trembled as he unleashed his light. The fools and vessels caught in it were obliterated as the force tore through them, those who were farther away were none-the-better as they were crushed by fiery debris and toppled mountains.

Not all died however, he watched several survivors scatter, limping away from him, scampering towards their surviving vessels. He could kill them, it was all too easy—but he wasn't a bloodthirsty fool like his brother, he is Baldur, merciful and kind.

He exhaled audibly and shook his head, he is disappointed, mortals were no challenge to him. Mortals are weak pathetic creatures, fighting them is comparable to fighting an ant. He yearns for more, a worthy opponent.

He saw movement to his right, underneath a sheet of metal. He watched as it slowly rose, coughing emanated underneath it. Walking towards it he bent forward, placed his foot on the ledge and kicked the object back.

Baldur marveled at the woman from earlier. Bruised and bleeding but remarkably still alive, somehow she managed to survive the carnage.

He watched her eyes widened when she looked up at him. He smirked, "Well hello, mortal."

She blurred, in less than a second the woman stood and swung at Baldur, a pathetic attempt. Baldur caught her wild swing and twisted—her shrieks were music to his ears. "Is that how you greet a god, mortal?"

She glared at him and spat, the bodily fluid struck him in the eye. "You destroyed my ship."

Baldur frowned, that thing was a boat? Shaking his head he clamped a hand on her neck. She struggled against him, punching and clawing at his arm.

He had to admit, he is amused by her… and enticed. The way her body twisted around him was very arousing.

Maybe he'll keep her after he finds out where he is he'll return to Asgard, bring the dark-skinned bitch with him, kill that giant, break the curse and fuck her.

Yes.

The grip on her neck tightened, he pulled her close, their faces inches apart, "Answer me this mortal, where am I?"

She coughed, spittle hitting him in the face. "...f-fuck...you."

He groans, raising her high he slammed her against the ground. Her eyes begin to water as her struggle increased, panic filled her eyes.

Staring at her with his cold, piercing blue eyes he spoke through clenched teeth, "Don't fuck with me mortal, this is your last chance. Answer and I let you live. Don't. And I tear your arm off." she screamed in agony as Baldur squeezed her right arm communicating his threat.

"Nod your head," she glared at him in defiance. Growing agitated Baldur increased the pressure in her arm, her bone creaked and snapped from the pressure, blood drew from her lips as she bit them, a pathetic attempt to stifle her screams.

"Nod. Your fucking. Head." with each word he began to pull at her arm and heard it pop as he began to tear it off. The woman eventually nodded, Baldur smirked, he wouldn't want to fuck damaged goods.

"Took you long enough, tell me, mortal. Where am I?"

"Sa… Sa-sakaar." she stammered.

Baldur frowned, he has never heard of Sakaar, he needed more than a single name, the woman wasn't divulging the whole truth. "What realm!?" ne snapped, squeezing her neck. "Alfheim? Nornheim?"

Baldur is beginning to lose his patience, if the woman won't tell him he'll just find another fool to question.

The woman's eyes widened as he began to choker her. Once ebony face turned a shade purple, kicking, scratching and punching she desperately tried to break his hold and found it futile.

"Ca-can't… b-breath." she finally begged.

"...hmm." Baldur hummed and thought for a second, he took pleasure at seeing her struggle, he could kill her but that would be a waste of good meat, he reluctantly relieved the pressure of his grasp.

She greedily took in air, reminding him of a starved swine. The color of her face turned from purple to white to brown, the shift of pigmentation amused Baldur.

After she recovered he started again, clamping her neck with his hand, he squeezed tightly.

"I've let you breath, now answer me."

She stared him in the eyes and spoke, "Yo-you're an Aesir."

That piqued Baldur's interest, "So you know who I am, good. Tell me, how do I get to Asgard."

"I… don't know."

Baldur snapped, increasing the strength of his grip. "Bullshit, don't lie to me, bitch."

"I'm not lying! Believe me," she pleaded. "nothing leaves Sakaar.

He glared at her, "The Allfather."

"...is dead."

He whirled towards the new voice, the man who raggedly stood before him, he was tall and well built, thick cords of muscle stood in for arms. His long golden hair and bearded face looked bedridden. He wore a matched pair of armored tunic and tight-fitting trouser, his big red cape hung lazily, only clasped to one shoulder.

"What!?" Baldur said in disbelief. He shook his head, "You're trying to make a fool of me." he stood, "You lie!" he rocketed towards the newcomer, the force of his acceleration sent the woman crashing into a mound of rubble

Baldur's punch was slow and sloppy, but strong, the shockwave ravaged the earth as the blond man caught it and struggled against his strength.

The man breathed hard, "I... am… telling the truth."

Baldur growled, "I don't believe you." breaking free from the lock he backhanded the fool.

The man rested on one knee, wiping blood off his nose. "I am Thor, Son of Odin, Prince of Asgard," Thor spoke, "I do not lie, fellow Asgardian. Odin is dead, Hela, she needs to be stopped and I need to save Asgard." he looked at Baldur with steeled eyes.

Baldur paused, he gazed at the blond man, his expression masked with a scowl.  
Slowly, his scowl twisted, a smile formed on his lips.

"Ha...haha...hahahahaha." Baldur cackled, he looked at Thor wiping tears from his eyes. ”You...ha...honestly...haha...expect me to believe that horseshit...hahaha." Baldur continued to laugh.

"Ho-honestly," Baldur stammered, his laughter dying into a giggle. "if you were going to feed me horseshit you should have made it smell better first."

Thor's face twisted in anger, "I told you, fellow Asgardian. I am Thor Odinson, I would not lie about the state of our home."

Baldur coldly gazed at 'Thor', "Do you recognize me? _Brother_."

Thor's anger turned to confusion, "Who...Loki?"

Baldur frowned and clicked his tongue, "Just as I thought, you're a lunatic and a liar." he snarled, "I'll be taking your head _brother_."

Baldur rocketed towards Thor, skidding drunkenly as Thor evaded his attack.

"Loki is that you?" said Thor, the tone of his voice growing agitated. "Brother, if that is you know that I have no time to play your games."

Twirling, Baldur glared at Thor, "How fucking dumb do you think I am?!” he screeched, “You’re not my brother! And I. Am not. Loki!" he raised his hands, his tattoos glowed, feeling his power through his veins he smashed his hands against the ground, the wave of dirt propelled Thor through the air, sending him crashing to a junkheap.

"Pathetic," Baldur taunted.

The trash heap moved as Thor unburied himself, "Hold, stranger, you and I have don't have to fight."

Baldur grunted, he was upon Thor in an instant and threw a flurry of haymakers.

Thor blocked his blows and blurred, he angled his body and pushed himself against Baldur's stomach, pinning the tattooed god against his shoulder. He grunted and jumped, launching both of them in the air, crashing into a mound of junk.

Baldur heard shuffling, looking up he sees 'Thor' snarling at him. Baldur smirked, slowly, he sat back up. "Is that the best you can do? Jump?"

Thor roared and charged, keen on introducing his boot to Baldur's mouth.

_Crack!_

Baldur’s world exploded as he showered the ground with blood and teeth.

In an instant Thor was on top of him, pummeling his face, each blow sounded like thunderclaps.

Twisting, Baldur avoided a flurry of strikes, bucking up he threw Thor forward, the weight no longer pressed on his stomach, he rolled, flipping their positions. He grabbed Thor's leg as he stood up, heaving he hurled Thor away sending the fool careening towards a trash heap.

Baldur sauntered to where Thor smashed against, seeing him pathetically clamber to his feet Baldur dashed towards Thor and kicked him in the head.

"You are pathetic," he grabbed Thor by the collar and slammed him with a thunderous blow that shook the earth, launching him off the ground.

Baldur glowed as he followed after Thor, he grew amused as he watched Thor flail his arms like a child as he tried to right himself.

"Missed me?" grabbing Thor's neck, Baldur grappled with him, striking him twice in the face, he smirked as he saw a tooth fly off.

Thor roared and caught his arm, he squeezed, breaking bones. Hurling a backfist, he sent Baldur on an uncontrolled roll.

Their ascent stopped, the world around them slowed down as they began their descent.

Baldur gripped Thor’s cape and pulled, throwing an uppercut that struck Thor on the back of his head.

Now their altitude matched, Thor jabbed a finger on Baldur's eye and gouged it out, not stopping, he buried his appendage deeper to strike brain matter. Baldur threw a hook that Thor caught, whirling he hurled Baldur to the ground. Baldur reacted swiftly and grabbed the fool’s red cape and tugged.

Enveloping Thor in his arms he gazed upon the hastily approaching ground and laughed, twisting his body he angled himself to allow Thor to strike the ground first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to write my very first fanfic. 
> 
> I love Baldur's character in God of War and I love Infinity War. I hope to do Baldur some justice and get his character right, having him turn into an OC with Baldur's name slapped on him.


	2. Battle Saga

Baldur inspected his surroundings. The once flat ground caved, forming a pit twenty feet wide, the walls were raised as high as a man is tall. His eyes wandered towards the ragged shape of a man who sprawled limply on the ground, his long golden hair contrasting with the blackened earth.

Baldur frowned, staring at 'Thor', he almost felt… disappointed, he shook his head—a fool can't win against a god.

His joints cracked as he stood, treading towards the corpse he unlaced his trousers, his limp cock swaying lazily as he hobbled.

"A golden shower, for a golden head." Baldur mused. He felt nothing as he pissed, _he felt nothing_. He can't even have the basic fucking pleasure of pushing out shit, the witch had taken that from him too. He loathed her—more than anything in his life—he never wanted to throttle someone as badly as he wanted to throttle her.

He turned to walk away, lacing his trousers back up, unconcerned about the corpse he desecrated.

Yet… he felt that he wasn't finished, turning back around he examined Thor, his ragged face twisting to a scowl.

“I’m wasting my time, what am I even doing watching a dead body.” he grumbled. Groaning in frustration he burned holes into Thor—waiting, watching—his patience wilting as he did.

After a few more moments he snorted and turned to leave, “Just as I thought. Nothing.”

Reaching the crater wall he heard a cough, twirling he smirked as the once limp frame of Thor raised unsteadily. "So you're still alive."

Baldur watched Thor gasp for air, the sight of Thor cake his face with blood, piss and dirt amused him.

Thor stopped and looked at him, sniffing, his face twisted in revulsion. “...you vile… wretched… barbaric BEAST!" Thor bellowed, his body quivering. "...for your hostility and humiliation. I, Thor, Son of Odin..." he stood, through shaded eyes, Baldur could see the red glint of madness.

"Sentence you to DIE!"

Thor roared, charging Baldur, the damp soil exploded as their bodies collided against the crater wall crashing into a mound of rubble.

Baldur's body glowed, righting himself with a flip, he whirled as his feet touched the ground and with a boom, he smashed his fist on Thor. "Weak!" Baldur jeered.

Punching the ground Thor snarled, standing, he plucked a massive metal beam that jutted from the ground. Weapon in hand, Thor accelerated towards Baldur sending the god flying with a mighty thwack. Baldur skidded on the ground for several meters before he stopped (the blow from Thor was mighty indeed) pieces of metal stuck to his flesh as the weapon shattered upon meeting his skin. Thor wasn't done however, discarding the broken beam and reached for another (this one not as big as the one he used against Baldur) what it lacked it size however, it made up with speed. Its girth wasn't as wide, making handling the weapon easier —it really made his life easier as he battered Baldur—his quick chopping strikes burying the god.

Baldur laughed, capturing the weapon, he rose to unbury himself. Clutching the beam in-between his arm he pulled.

Reacting on instinct, Thor wrenched the weapon from Baldur's grasp, finding it futile as Baldur refused to give.

”Your struggle is pointless,” Baldur continued to taunt.

Thinking quickly Thor responded, using his torso as a pendulum he swung Baldur against a mountain of metal, the weapon slipped from the god’s clutches.

The weapon in hand Thor stood, cradling the beam on his shoulder he aimed, muscles bulging he threw the makeshift javelin towards Baldur. It whizzed and shrieked as it flew to Baldur, gouging the earth it plunged deep into the god skewering him.

The smell of iron invaded Baldur's nose as he coughed up blood, "Pointless!" he muttered. Gripping the beam that impaled him, his torso squelched and squirted blood as he pulled the offending object, his body making a wet popping sound as he ripped it free.

Thor looked horrified but continued to watch, unable to look away he saw Baldur's body begin to reknit itself.

"So… care to try again?" Baldur's tattoos flickered to life, dashing forward, he was upon Thor in an instant, a massive shockwave rippled in the air around him, as he kicked—sending dirt, Thor and debris flying.

Baldur scoffed, "You're pathetic."

Zipping forward, his blow sounded like thunderclaps and snapped Thor's head back.

Thor stumbled, the punch rattling his brain. Taking a step back he held his ground and refused to falter, instead choosing to retaliate. He threw a body hook and a right cross, both attacks hitting their marks, not letting up he continued to throw a flurry of fast, whipping strikes that drove Baldur back. Ducking, Thor avoided a set of hard looping punches and countered, blasting Baldur with an overhand right and an uppercut that threw the god back.

Baldur staggered from the blows, rubbing his jaw he smirked, a sickening crack erupted as he snapped the bone back in place, planting his foot down his body glowed as he weaved in between punches and whipped forward, flooring Thor with two hard uppercuts to the body sending him airborne. Blurring, Baldur reached for Thor’s cape, jerking down he delivered a vicious knee, breaking Thor’s back and ribs.

”Weak,” taunted Baldur, gripping the back of Thor’s head he tested the tensile strength of bone, finding it disgustingly fragile as it cracked under the pressure. ”Soft and weak!” smashing Thor against the ground he released the fool.

Thor groaned, wincing he shakily went on all fours, arms trembled from a combination of pain and fatigue, craning his head he looked at Baldur. Coughing, blood dribbled from his mouth letting him taste sharp iron, "...w-what... manner of monster... are you." he muttered.

Baldur's eye twitched, “Monster? Fool, you don't even recognize your own god even if he pissed on your corpse."

Thor drew a ragged breath as he stared wide-eyed at Baldur, his voice quivered with rage as he spoke, "...God!? You dare to call yourself a GOD! Demon." The faint sound of thunder crackled on the horizon as Thor stood, his breath hitched as he growled like a wild beast.

The glint in Thor's eyes reminded Baldur of a Berserker—of those mad warriors that Odin favored so much—with that thought he chuckled at the sudden realization. "Well that certainly explains a lot." he grinned, "Come on then Mad Warrior, let us not disappoint The All-Father."

Thor balled his fists, body trembled with rage. An animalistic roar escaped his throat. Charging, the earth tremored as he ran towards Baldur.

_Krakathoom!_

Time slowed for Baldur as he heard the crack of thunder, Thor—the madness driven warrior—was barreling down upon him, his fist cocked, skin taut as muscles bulged underneath threatening to burst free.

_Crack!_

Baldur blinked as Thor's punch connected crackling like thunder—his perception slowed as he watched the fist dig itself against his face—the faintest of tingle rippled from the punch and coursed through his body as he soared. He felt electric, giddy, ecstatic from feeling that faint tingle. He closed his eyes, and shut out the outside world, not wanting to see nor hear nor smell, he only wanted to feel.

Yet, as quickly as he felt it, the tingle dissipated, "...no...no, no, no, NOOO!." Baldur sobbed as he clambered to his feet, "...you...again...HIT ME!"

Thor obliged and pummeled Baldur—his punches were like hurricanes—the force from his strikes were so great it would loose dirt and debris from the ground and sent them flying, his strikes so fierce that it boomed like thunder as he ravaged Baldur—almost drowning out the laughter that erupted from the god.

***

Baldur laughed in ecstasy—this is what Odin promised him. Even the fastest tingle coursed through his body like a wave, pleasuring him… taunting him… angering him as he remembered the mission, the giant.

Had that disgusting _creature_  did what Baldur asked for he would have been on his way to feeling again, instead that beast decided to waste his time. He growled, he felt renewed vigor, he's desperate to complete the mission and finally rid himself of the curse.

He needed to end this—he has wasted enough time already—he inhaled, feeling his power flow through him in a controlled manner, unlike the ones from his attacks that required him to violently draw from his power. He allowed it to build, refusing to release it too soon, feeling it reach its zenith he exhaled, opening his eyes, the world illuminated.

***

Thor shielded his eyes as he was nearly blinded by the light that gleamed so fierce it forced him back.

***

Baldur stood as his body radiated light, he hasn't used this trick since he was a boy—back when they used to call him Baldur The Innocent. Back when he would pick flowers for his mother and thread it between her hair, back when he… he swiftly stamped down the memories of laughter, and sunsets that threatened to surface, he wasn't a boy anymore, those worthless memories are of no use to him.

"I have to admit, you almost had me fooled, Father,” he muttered, knowing one of his vile birds were watching somewhere, ready to relay information back to the Allfather. ”sending one of your pet to test me. You seem to forget, that I am the God of Light."

"...pet...God of Light. You are even more insane than I had first thought." Thor growled out.

Baldur chuckled, "Your game is up, madman, let's finish this. I have a giant to slay."

Thor looked perplexed, "...giant? No." his face twisted to a sneer, "You'll have to get through me before you reach him."

Baldur smirked, "Oh. I know." he jumped, his body glowing as he gathered his power, landing with a crash he slammed his fists on the ground, his light shattered the earth as it traveled towards Thor, who rolled to evade the deadly wave and saved himself from getting obliterated.

Baldur growled, "Stand still."

Baldur flashed as he launched towards Thor, swinging with abandon. His wide looping punches looked ready to cleave a man's head off.

But Thor is a warrior, renowned in the nine realms, trained by the best his whole life to prepare him for combat. Thor raised an arm and intercepted Baldur's blow, grunting as he was caught off guard by Baldur's strength that seemed to have tripled. Baldur swung again the strike whizzing past his head as he ducked and blasted Baldur with a punch—that Baldur blocked by punching the rocketing fist—Thor grits his teeth as heard his bones crack, his long golden hair whipped back from the shockwaves of Baldur's blow.

Baldur blurred—this time he aimed low—the speed catching Thor off guard as he ripped into him. Bone, muscle, and armor all crumbled before his mighty blow and knocked Thor back. Baldur smirked, "Slow and weak, father should never have sent you."

"You talk too much." Thor grunted, exploding into motion he reached for Baldur's leg, using the momentum he tackled the god, the earth caving as they crashed to the ground. Thor reached for Baldur's neck, bones cracked as he clenched his hand. Pinning Baldur, Thor began blasting him with thunderous blows, battering him over and over again destroying the god's smirk as he caved his face in.

Baldur lurched forward capturing a punch he backhanded Thor and flipped their positions.

Thor twisted, avoiding a sloppy punch he recoiled, bashing his elbow against Baldur's skull—his face curled in horror as he watched Baldur's jaw flopped down beside him—Baldur chuckled, his tongue flapping in his neck as he did—the sound he made akin to a wheezing growl mixed with a pig's snort.

Thor heaved and pulled his legs up, placing them by Baldur's chest, twisting, he avoided several blows and kicked, sending the god airborne.

Baldur made the same wheezing, snorting growl as he skidded across the ground. Once he stopped, he stood. His vision doubled as his left eye popped and hung free. Concentrating, his body illuminated a bluish–white light as he regenerated. Bones snapped back in place, eye retracted back in his skull and jaw grew back in mere seconds.

Baldur growled, his vision fully recovered he blurred and tore a misshapen lump of steel from the ground and hurled it effortlessly towards Thor.

Unprepared for his new found speed the idiot smashed against the hurdling monolith.

Baldur revelled at the shrieks that erupted as Thor howled in pain. He smirked, catching the faint whiff of rain as he sniffed, the world darkened as he stared at the metal monolith and vaguely registered the rumblings and crackling of thunder in the distance.

"Odin is a fool if he thought you would have been a challenge to me," Baldur shook his head and chuckled.

His test wasn't finished however, he still needed to get back to Asgard and to do that he would have to question the dying berserker. He took two steps to where the dying berserker was before he stopped as the ground began to rumble. "...what?" Baldur asked in confusion as streaks of blue light began to emanate through the cracks in the steel, followed by an explosion of azure energy that erupted from the rubble scattering dirt and debris everywhere. Dust filled his lungs and covered his vision making him cough and sneeze involuntary, though his curse prevented him from feeling it his body still reacted on instincts whenever his nose _itched_.

The smoke soon cleared and Baldur felt fury burn through his body as he saw Thor, he observed the supposed to be dying berserker and snarled, "Why. Aren't. You. DEAD!" Baldur screeched.

Thor stood before him, looking pristine; nary a speck of dirt and grime on his skin and clothes, blue energy erupted from his body and crackled, reminding Baldur of his brother, Thor.

Baldur snarled, "You're wasting my time! Die already." Light trailed Baldur as he bolted towards Thor screaming like a madman, his fists cocked back and ready to pummel Thor.

As he got closer the world rumbled.

_Krakathoom!_

Baldur blinked as he was blasted back by a bolt of lightning sending him soaring a hundred feet back, "...why." he shook his head, sitting up he snarled at Thor. "...all you had to do was die," he said through gritted teeth. "but YOU just had to make it harder for yourself. Fine!"

Exploding into motion, he jumped, his light glowing its own shade of azure as it traced behind him. Reaching the apex of his ascent, his glorious incandescence contrasted against the darkened sky as he illuminated the world, growing brighter and stronger than any star.

Falling back down the world shook as he slammed his feet into the ground shattering the earth; dirt, metal, and light mixed together as it raised and rippled from the epicenter flowing like a tsunami and slammed into Thor burying him.

Thunder crackled and rumbled as Thor burst from the ground and blasted Baldur with lightning.

Thor looked to the sky his face in deep concentration he called for thunder. The world thrummed and lightning crackled from his fingers. "You madman. Fiend!” he bellowed, “Know my wrath as you I send you to the deepest and darkest canyon of Hel!"

_Krakoom!_

The world exploded as Thor struck the ground with the biggest lightning bolt the entire universe has ever seen.


	3. Thor's Escapades

Mud clung to his boots as he trudged through the sloppy ground. The rain had made the climate unbearably humid for Thor, whose heavy armor stuck to his large muscular frame unpleasantly—trapping heat and sweat—making him boil in his own juices.

Sweat pooled on his brows, he stopped. The thick humidity in the air made every breath suffocating. His head swims as his skin flushed to bright pink, the heat wreaking havoc on his body.

He’s queasy, his knees are like gelatin. Reaching for the straps of his vest, he frantically undid them, throwing the hot, heavy clothing off his body. He breathes a sigh of relief as cool air kissed his exposed torso.

Wiping sweat off his brows he took a seat to rest. He had been walking hours since the fight, his body ached with every step he took, screaming for him to stop—to rest, to drink. He can't, not with his home under attack. A king isn't a king without a kingdom to rule.

He stood, snatching his armor he unclasped his cape, wrapping it around his torso he fashioned it into a cloak. The fabric was light and breathable, better suited for travel than his thick heavy armor.

Gazing at the sky he observed as the clouds cleared, sunlight filtered through the gaps.

He feels warmth as the rays licked his skin, drying the salted dew that coated him.

The change in weather affected his mood as he smiled.

***

The mud sucked him deeper with every step, the sun had half baked the earth making the soil crust on top whilst under it stayed a sloppy stew. It took great effort to walk even a few feet.

Heaving, he pulled his leg. Battling against the ground for dominance, the suction of the mud wasn't enough to hold him as it released his foot with a pop.

Even with his enhanced strength and stamina, traversing the bog had sapped him of his dwindling energy. It took great effort to travel in this terrain—a normal man would have gone fatigued in mere minutes—but Thor isn't a man; he’s a God.

The mud didn't bother him. The smell did. Exposed garbage and carcases cooked as a heat wave swept through the land.

His ears perked when he heard explosions. Tensed, he waited for whomever caused them to appear. Scanning the dump he saw a mound burst as gas escaped from the decaying pile, permeating the air with a stench that made his nose wrinkle. The smell so foul it made him gag as gas invaded his mouth making him taste the foul concoction.

He figuratively breathed easy, glad nobody had found him yet. Still the stench was unbearable. Not taking a second more he hastened his pace.

Walking over another mound he saw the great city, his journey’s end. Still two miles away, now that he had closed the distance he could take a rest.

Taking a seat on a trash pile he grimaced when something squishy pop beneath his trousers, feeling liquid travel on his leg, he looked down and saw a disgusting, viscous goop seep into his boots.

He sighed, "I’m going to need a bath."

This day had been terrible. First, he lost his father. Second, he has a murderous sister. Third, he is stranded in an unknown land. Fourth, he fought a damn lunatic almost killed him. And Fifth, he is covered in garbage and stunk like a privy.

The city is less than an hour away he can afford to muck around, since the battle his thoughts had always gone back to that feeling. The surge of electricity thrumming through his veins, electrifying him. Compelling him to move, to fight. To kill.

He thought of that mad Asgardian—tattoos marred his pale skin, ratty disheveled hair and those cold, piercing blue eyes. Beneath the rage, the madness, under a thick layer of ice those piercing orbs betrayed sadness and longing.

Thor knew those emotions all too well. The wish to have everything back the way it used to be. Before Hela, before Loki’s betrayal, their parents death, his banishment. Back when they used to be so happy, drinking wine and bedding women, getting into fights for the dumbest of reasons. When Asgard was respected and all the realms breathed peace. He supposed it was all for the better things happened the way it did.

Thor wished he divined the name of that mad Asgardian. In his rage he was hasty and delivered swift judgement—ripping his head off. He wanted to know why and how he got here. They could have gone back to Asgard together and stopped Hela—not that he thinks the madman could even scratch her.

If she broke his hammer like glass she would’ve done the same to the madman.

The madman was strong however—easily the strongest foe he had ever faced. Not even the hulk unleashed that much punishment.

What even is that madman. Definitely not a normal Asgardian, the power he possessed is comparable to the Gods. To harness the elements is something only Gods could do.

He shook his head. Father had great many secrets, who’s to say he never hid one more God. Like how he kept Hela’s existence from him and Loki.

He wonders about those eyes, the emotions they invoked.

Rage...

Madness...

Bloodlust...

The thrill of battle...

Eyes widened in realization. “Berserker.” He whispered.

Berserker…

That man was a berserker, famed warriors of old. Elite warriors lost through history, able to harness monstrous levels of strength by tapping into their innate power...

Warriors Madness.

Father used to tell him and Loki stories about them, when they walked the gardens to watch the sunset, he always looked forward hearing about them and His father's adventures.

In his childish wonder however, he would always forget that his father never told them stories—he told them lessons. Teaching them about values, kindness and how to rule. That a warriors life isn't one to look forward to—something he always ignored, which led him to almost bringing war to the nine realms when he attacked Jötunheim.

He felt giddy knowing he had fought and bested a berserker.

No, not a full berserker. A demigod, half-god half-berserker.

Still, as a warrior this battle is worthy for a song.

He can't wait to tell the Warriors Thre—

He bit his tongue.

What is wrong with him. His home is under attack, how could he be cheerful at a time like this. Supposed he should lighten his mood for a time. If he stews too much in all the negativity of today madness might overtake him.

Enough thoughts for now. This could be saved for later.

Right now, he needed to learn how to harness lightning. In Midgard they had a quaint ritual, harnessing their inner power by meditating.

He closed his eyes and inhaled, blocking out all his senses he concentrated. A thrum reverberated through his spine. Using his body like Mjölnir he channeled his thunder—his inner turmoil. Visualizing electricity coursing through his veins, empowering him. The hairs in his arms stood, heat generated around him, skin prickles as static filled the air.

The shrill sound of electricity echoed in his ears. He opened his eyes, observing electricity sparkle from his fingers. He gradually expanded his gates, allowing more power to filter through. The sparkles grew in length and size.

He smiled, pointing to his neck he channeled his power and unleashed it like a wild torrent straight at the device stuck to his skin.

“Argh!” He fell to the ground screaming as the device shocked him. Electricity—unlike his own—pulsated through his body, lasting more than a minute.

He groaned, his tongue felt numb.

The device beeped twice. It may have activated a beacon and broadcasted his location. Curse this planet and curse that blasted woman.

***

The city was bustling when he entered, ships and scavengers departed droves. Children were playing, splashing water on bystanders as they ran through puddles.

It looked and smelled like any other cities, at first glance nothing seemed too out of the ordinary—he hoped.

He walked around for a while, wandering the streets and letting his feet control where he went.

Eventually he had come across a bar, he couldn't make of what the sign said but judging from the drunks who littered the outside and the occasional scoundrel getting thrown out—and from past experiences—he could discern whether an establishment is a bar or not with a single glance.

Entering the stingy establishment he noticed several pair of eyes staring at him.

Ignoring them he walked over the counter and observed the barkeep, he was tall and heavy built with a potbelly, tattoos marked his hands, faintly hiding the scars on his knuckles. Wearing only a tank top he placed his towel over his shoulder when he finished wiping a glass dry and turned to him.

"...What will it be stranger." The gruff, heavy built barkeep drawled out. The faint stench alcohol lined his breath.

Thor cleared his throat, "J-Just water." His voice hoarse and raw as he spoke.

The barkeep turned and scoffed, “Give me a second.”

He eyed the bar and patrons as he waited for his glass of water. He could feel them scrutinizing him, sizing him up. Tugging his cloak tight he hoped they would mind their own business, he doesn't have the time for any drunken squabbles.

"Here's yer glass of water." The barkeep said as he returned, unceremoniously dropping the glass on the table causing the contents inside to spill.

"Uh—thank you." He eagerly took the glass, dying to quench his thirst with water. He swallowed, grimacing in disgust by the flavor. Peering inside the cup he was appalled by its contents—the water was dark, silt gathered on the bottom of the glass. Objects not fit for consumption floated on the surface on the foul liquid.

He sighed, thanks to his Asgardian physiology he was sure he wouldn't get sick from drinking this—maybe. Still his throat was parched and water is water, he took a gulp and immediately spat it out, he couldn't stomach it.

Fury burned in his mind. “What foul beverage did you try and make me drink, cur.” He snarled.

A hush fell across the bar.

The barkeep glared at Thor. Crossing his arms. "Listen you cheap bastard, this is a bar—for alcohol. Either you order something or get out."

The sound of skidding chairs echoed through the silence. Patrons brandishing knives encircled him.

"What would it be?" The barkeep asked.

Thor shivered as a warm tongue slithered across the back of his neck.

“Mmm. Salty.” The vile miscreant said.

"We get to eat him right?" One of the patrons asked, his breath reeked of vomit and unwashed teeth.

The barkeep nodded. "Yep."

"You do not want this fight." Thor growled.

Earning a couple laughs from the patrons. "Hehehe. Actually, we do."

“I had hoped hoped to avoid this…” Electricity sparked from his fingers, bursting into motion he twirled and gouged out the eyes of the closest patron. His head exploded in a flurry of blood and brain matter as Thor shot lightning through his eye holes.

“How’d he do that!” A patron shrieked.

Thor blasted another with a thunderous hook, relieving the man of his lower jaw.

Two stabbed their knives at him, the flimsy steel bent as it touched his armor. Scowling, he struck their throats. Lightning ejected from his hands as it touched soft flesh decapitating the fools.

He froze, feeling cold steel against his head.

“Don't. Fucking. Move.” The voice growled. Silence filled the room, only interrupted by the whizz of his gun. “You just killed Mo, Jo, Joe and Joh. I’m going to blow your brains out.” The man stabbed the gun against skin, painfully digging into bone. The sound of gears and metal reverberated through the barrel as the man pulled the trigger.

He feels the man freeze as the sounds of clicks and a whizz stopped his shooter.

Thor craned his head and saw the barkeep wielding his own weapon.

“You shoot ‘im and I shoot you.” His voice, a low dangerous growl. “What I say ‘bout shootin’ in the bar? And you,” Pointing his gun at Thor, “Ms. Cheap Goldilocks, don't splatter blood on the floor, yer not the one cleanin’ this mess…”

His shooter gulped audibly. “Sorry, Pinky. You se—”

“Shut up!” The barkeep snarled, “I didn't tell you speak, Jow. Say Goldilocks… yer free beat these guys brains in but you clean the mess. What say you?”

“W-Wha—”

Jow’s stuttering was stopped as Pinky shoved the barrel of his gun in his mouth. “No. Talkin’. So, what's yer decision Goldilocks.”

“...Fine by me, barkeep.”

***

Thor exited the bar richer than when he had entered. Pinky, the barkeep. Warmed up to him and paid him a share of the loot after he finished cleaning, he even apologized about the sewer water.

It was tedious work—scrubbing the floor, picking up eyes and brain matter—his lack of experience cleaning floors ate precious time that would be better off used for finding and stealing a ship.

He lost his temper in there, he slaughtered them like animals. Unfitting for a King,

While he worked he questioned a few patrons. He found that he is in Sakaar, a backwater planet in the middle of nowhere. Asking how to leave this place led him to a dead end, no one seemed to know how. Or if they do, they're too afraid to say.

This bothered him, if he could only leave using the Bifrost it's safe to assume he is stuck in this planet for a while until he finds his own way to leave. If only his brother was here, Loki. He hoped Loki is safe, he may not be his blood but he is his brother.

He hoped his newly discovered powers are enough to defeat Hela, there simply can't be two rulers of Asgard—not that he thinks they can both rule together, he would never let a person like his sister near the throne.

Supposed he can do a political marriage with her—as disgusting as that sounds—and have her murdered in her sleep. That is if she doesn't kill him first.

He shook his head—No. Diplomacy is out of the question, he had tried it on Earth and it didn't work, she would just have to die.

The sky had darkened considerably, the street is calmer and everybody spoke in a hush.

Now is the time to find shelter, he could find a way out of this place. He swears it, he’ll do anything to stop Hela and save his people.

***

"You'll be in room 19." The lady said tiredly. Handing him his key.

He nodded and went to his room. It was the cheapest one available. The building itself was in the part of town that Pinky called, “Murder Alley.”

He can attest to that. The walk wasn't very pleasant. Prostitutes lined the streets and groped him when he got too close—he knew they were probing him for money. Thankfully, Loki taught him how to hide money. He didn't need those spells back then, no one would dare to steal from the Prince of Asgard. As much as he detested using sorcery it proved helpful on select occasions.

The hallway to his room was in disrepair. As he passed by the doors he could hear muffled, moans, cries and screaming. It made sense that men looking for a quick lay would use the cheapest establishment. He himself used the hot springs in Vanaheim.

He got to his door, ignoring the dried crust of blood that seeped from his room. Opening it, he entered.

It wasn't very homely.

Rust covered the walls, the smell of death hung in the air. Windows were boarded with sheets of metal. His only source of light was from the bathroom which flickered every fifteen seconds.

Walking over the bed he inspected the sheets, they looked innocent enough. Lifting it up, he was greeted by a cow shaped bloodstain. It was still tinged red, not black which indicated old blood. Poking it with his finger he is relieved to find it dry. He didn't want to sleep on the floor, who knows how many juices has splattered on it.

Flipping the bed he found no signs of bugs, even his skin isn't impervious to bites.

His shoulders slumped, tired eyes slowly dropped as he sighed. He felt as if his body was casted in concrete as he sluggishly rubbed his aching muscles.

The day had finally taken its toll. He couldn't ignore it any longer.

He felt a pang in his stomach, it was as if a knife was doing acrobatics inside of him.

Undoing the concealment spell he opened the pouch and counted his Units.

With his meager earnings he is cautious with spending too much. He could afford a cheap snack and a pair of new clothes—what he currently wore is too suspicious. He needed to blend with the locals if he is to stay in Sakaar for a lot longer than what he planned, a week at most. Preferably he wanted to leave in two day’s time, logistically it wasn't possible.

He needed more money to survive a week. Paying for food, clothing and the room would leave him with nothing. He needed to find work.

This could wait tomorrow, he needed to rest. Sighing, he sauntered towards the bathroom.

It was small, barely big enough to accommodate his large frame. Aside from a toilet and a flimsy sonic shower everything was bare. Even essential toiletries were missing. This isn't a hotel, he shouldn't have expected luxury for something this cheap.

He wanted to soak in hot water to ease his muscles. A sonic shower is still a fine replacement. It never penetrated deep enough to touch muscle for safety reasons, some cheaper models have great exfoliating benefits as it would peel first layer of skin rather than dissolve dirt.

He supposed he could use it to clean his clothing. Losing the color of his clothes are of no concern to him. Besides, he kind of like the whole black color scheme.

***

AN: Woah! Easy there! Don't raise your pitchforks yet, I can explain. Yes, Thor won the battle against Baldur, very anticlimactic. I didn't write it—well I did—But I got bored midway through it. I lost interest in doing another battle, I was stuck for days so I just skipped it and went straight for the aftermath.

As to how he won, he had Warriors Madness. I’m pretty bummed out Thor in the MCU didn't have it.

Chapter 1 and 2 would be undergoing a revision soon, I’m cringing just reading them. Nothing too major, plot points would stay the same.

For the readers in SB/SV, why must you choose the story. I had a ton of death battles lined up. Nevermind, good news is I’m working on it. It's a F/SNxAvengers idea I thought up. I'm still plotting it. Very ambitious of me to think people would flock after my shitty writing. Eh /shrug.

Also, I’m moving the Tuesday schedule to Wednesday. 


	4. The Chronicles of Asgard: Heimdall

The rays of the sun beats upon the forest floor. The misty haze shimmered as light reflected from the tiny droplets of dew collected on the leaves. Birds chirped and sang, hopping from branch to branch, warming their bones for the first flight of the day.

The picture the forest painted was calm and serene, total opposite of what they had gone through.

An hours sleep was all he could give them, Hela’s undead soldiers were near. He tracked their movements as the refugees slept in huddles, desperate for warmth from the cold misty morning.

It had only been fourteen minutes into their sleep—painfully short—but as every second ticks the draugrs ran at full sprint, drawing ever closer to their position

He stood, ready to rouse the people of Asgard from their minute slumber.

"We have to move! Hela would be upon us soon!” yelled Heimdall. “Gather your belongings, we leave posthaste.”

Heads perked as his command reverberated through the forest. Glazed eyes tinged red gazed at him. Yawns sounded, accompanied by the chirps and whistles of birds.

“Can't even get a damn nap,” an Asgardian noble grumbled. He was big and fat, thin gray hair peppered his scalp—the former splendor it might have had were lost to balding. Pug nose and rotund face lined with age twisted to a perpetual scowl.

He was unpleasant to look at, his features resembled more of a bulldog than a man, Heimdall mused. Watching the man kicked the others awake.

They were all tired. Only having less than an hours sleep and rest everyday. Having been on the run for three weeks now, not stopping even through the night, they face a cruel, restless enemy. Not knowing sleep nor fatigue.

Even with their Asgardian physiology, the hectic journey and the lack of food and sleep would have brought even the mightiest of warriors to their knees. Seeing no one collapse from exhaustion was a miracle—it was as if the Allfather had blessed them.

Heimdall rubbed his eyes, desperately fighting the urge to sleep. Even as the watcher he was allowed to eat, sleep and rest like any normal Asgardian. He rarely took them at first, feeling that his duty were more important than mundane luxuries.

He only stopped when Odin personally came to him and said, “We don't want our watcher and protector to drop down dead when he is needed the most. Rest boy, know that we are not Gods. Like any mortal eating and sleeping greatly benefits us.”

He wouldn't admit it but the Allfather had become somewhat of a second father to him.

He remembered when he first met Odin.

Heimdall was the envy of their town when they knew the Allfather personally came to the small mountain village to see the child with eyes that can gaze upon all the nine realms.

The old men said he was prophesied by a woodswitch “Born under a red–moon a child with eyes of fire peer upon the branches of the Yggdrasil, the ravens may whisper stories but the seer watches all.” they said.

He was playing with his brother as his mother spun them wool. He never played much with other children, his skin color only brought scorn and contempt. A boy once said Heimdall was cursed, a demon. That his skin was a result of breeding with the giants of Muspelheim, that his fiery eyes would be the end of his family as he would burn them in their sleep. He ran back home with tears in his eyes and hid under a tree by the creek. When his brother found him—red faced and all—he sworn to beat him for running from the boy. And beat him he did. He came home soft, bruised and battered, but his heart had grown like iron. He fought back like any man, breaking the nose of his older sibling, throwing punches with fervor he unleashed his fury. A temper he kept hidden from all.

The Allfather visited their house at noon, bringing with him a retinue of Gods and soldiers. Tyr, the God of War enamored his brother—who wanted to join the Einharjar.

“They said Tyr is the fiercest of all generals, his martial prowess surpasses all in the nine realms.” his brother whispered to him.

He vaguely registered his brother's words and only nodded in response. His attention were only focused on the Allfather. Saddled on the great Sleipnir, his regal face was maned with a thick black beard. Hair made of blackened silk that reached his shoulders were adorned by a crown so gold it shone like a second sun. His pale blue eyes watched Heimdall with intent.

Heimdall knew they were coming—he watched them. He caught glimpses of the Allfather before, his vision was blurry at best however. Seeing the Allfather in the flesh, he can't help but stare wide-eyed.

The Allfather grunted and dismounted Sleipnir, landing with a thud. The jewels threaded in his golden-woven cloak clinked, moved by the force of the Allfather, who settled atop packed earth. His tall and wide figure loomed a shadow over Heimdall—who felt compelled to kneel as the Allfather’s intense gaze jabbed at his core.

It was weird; getting stared at. His father once told him, “You’re bound to get used to it.”

Their skin color was the subject of japes and mockery when they moved here, their previous home became unprofitable. Fishing was a dying trade. His father made the decision of moving to this mining village years ago; they lived far from the center. Dark skin isn't common in Asgard, aside from their family, Heimdall has never seen another one with the same pigmentation.

A different family were close, however. Their skin was a beautiful shade of sunkissed olive, they had exotic features and dark eyes.

His mother stomped to welcome the Allfather, pebbles ground beneath her leather sandals. The visit was unannounced, nobody in his family knew—except for Heimdall.

She opened her mouth to sing a greeting to the Allfather who silenced her with a hand.

“So you must be the one my ravens kept pestering me about,” Odin addressed Heimdall. “Yes, you're definitely the one, eyes of fire they whispered.” Odin's eyes narrowed with suspicion. “With eyes like those boy, mayhaps you’ve been spying on royalty?” His voice veiled a threatening tone.

His mother’s face turned a pale sickly white. “M-my king—”

“Fie!” Odin exclaimed in outrage, pointing an accusing finger. “Silence woman.” he commanded. Turning the finger on Heimdall. “Answer me boy, methinks you aren't mute, so speak.” Leather squealed as his hand gripped the hilt of his sword.

Heimdall kneeled frozen, unable to breathe. His lips cracked as saliva evaporated.

The air was thick and stale, tension high. The world seemed to stop as it watched.

Tyr cleared his throat, “Odin, you’re terrifying the poor boy. What would Frigga say when she discovers you're threatening children?”

“Frigga would say ‘go ahead and gouge out his eyes for gazing upon her pale beauty’.” Odin retorted.

Tyr groaned, “We have talked about this on the road, the boy isn't spying on you or your wife.”

Beside him his brother growled and bared his teeth, “I won't let you hurt my brother!” he yelled, “Treason, regicide I’m willing to die—”

Odin unsheathed his sword, the blade quivered in his hand; glinting in the noon-light. Uru reflected the fear in his brother's eyes, “And die you shall!” His boots drummed the earth as he trudged towards Heimdall’s brother.

“Odin stop this,” a feminine voice commanded.

Odin stopped, the fury on his face subsided, his lips quirked to a smile, “Frigga, my love. I am only chopping down unruly weeds—”

“Weeds!” said Frigga, exasperated. “Is that what you call your people?” she looked at Heimdall, “I am terribly sorry for my husband’s boorish attitude. It seems his paranoia has returned, rest assured that he would be indemnified for this.”

“Frigga—”

Her glare silenced the Allfather. “No Odin, we shall address the event at a later date. Threatening children is unbecoming for a king of Asgard. I expected better than marry a brute.” she steered her horse back and galloped away.

Odin’s fury returned as quickly as it left, “You dare embarrass a king!” he growled, jabbing a finger at Heimdall. “A hundred—no two hundred lashes for you. Don't come to the capital lest I have the entire city flog you purple.” he stomped towards Sleipnir and mounted. Leaving with a thunderous gallop.

Tyr only chuckled as they watched Odin leave, “Boy, you have a gift. We must harness this gift to protect Asgard, our home. I will not take you against your will, this is your decision. Come to me by nightfall when you have made it. I may make a soldier out of you.” said Tyr, gesturing to his men to follow the Allfather. Tyr soon left.

He breathed what felt like his first breath, greedily taking in air. The beats of his heart pounded against his ears. His head is light, the edges of his visions blurred. Only the feeling of dirt digging into skin were his last memories.

 

***

 

When his father returned he was furious and afraid. Both his parents wanted to leave their home, build a new life far away.

Heimdall knew it was useless, the Allfather would find them again. They will never escape the ravens. Even now one kept cawing outside their house, taunting them.

His brother had half-a-mind to shoot it full of arrows. But seeing the Allfather's rage and willingness to kill…

Heimdall didn't know what to think or do. As a child it was all too confusing, Odin wanted him gone but Tyr seemed eager that he existed. He didn't know what to think about the Allfather, he never knew that beneath that regal exterior he was a vile unpleasant man. If he was being honest he thought Tyr would be the ignorant brute.

But he was still their king, his judgement was correct. Covering his eyes his face fills with heat, he is guilty about using his eyes to peep. He didn't mean to, it took a while to harness his power. Still it doesn't excuse voyeurism.

Did the Allfather truly wanted him dead? No. He is only suspicious. Yes. As would all monarchs be if a person had the same power as Heimdall. First impressions aside the Allfather’s concerns were valid. Heimdall loved his home, he wouldn't betray it even if his and his family’s lives depended on it. But the Allfather didn't know that.

No. He didn't.

Heimdall needed to earn that trust. To show the Allfather he meant no harm to the realm. That he will give up his very life as a sacrifice. For Asgard, for his people and… for his family.

By twilight he made his decision. Leaving the house alone he looked for the God of War. The walk took several minutes before he reached the village hall. It was easy enough to find where he is—go where the people are. The village was festive, celebrating the arrival of their monarch.

He stood, staring at the thick wooden doors of the hall. The knobs were fashioned as roaring lions, casted in uru. The metal was cold against his quivering hand. The saliva in his mouth was thick and hard to swallow. His stomach fluttered, heart racing faster than war horses. “Breathe in slowly.” his father would tell him. Taking a breath his heart pounding against his chest, the pulse of his veins throbbed through his skin and into the uru handle.

He could do this. He made his decision moments ago. He can't falter now.

He gathered his courage, knowing that it is a decision that could either haunt him for the rest of his life. Or bring him glory, respect and trust.

Opening the door, he entered.

Laughter, music and shouting invaded his ears. The noise was unpalatable. The thick oaken walls drowned out the worst of it from the outside. But inside… was a different story.

Bodies crammed together in such created an unpleasant heat, thankful his stature staved the worst of it. He knew a few more inches taller and he would sweat like roast pork.

The aroma of beer, mead and wine was thick in the air and burned his nose. Seated on a large dining table, in the middle was none other than the Allfather himself, red faced and drunk—two wenches with bosoms larger than grapefruits flanked his lap.

Special whores from the capital, Heimdall deduced. In a village as small as his you know every name and face.

Queen Frigga wasn't present, using his vision he watched her continue her journey towards the capital. A small retinue of guards accompanied her. She was pale and fair, wearing a blood red gown embezzled with finely woven golden threads. Her hair fashioned into curls, adorned with rare gemstones. Her face was doll-like, not a single blemish marred her beauty.

He understood why Odin would think he was peeping on his bride. She looked like the women he fantasized about when he dreamt that he was a prince that everyone fawned over.

The pale flower and her dark rose. His face fills with heat, maybe in another life.

“Ah! The All-Seer! I told you dunces that he would come, didn't I!?” Tyr proclaimed with a voice that drowned the room. Jabbing elbows into the ribs of his men who laughed merrily. Tyr unsteadily parted the sea-of-people and made his way towards Heimdall, almost tripping when his leg caught a ledge on the wood flooring. “Woah—I want to apo—”

Heimdall shook his head, “Let me join the Einharjar, I will earn Odin’s trust and become the protector of Asgard.” he said, interrupting the god’s apologies, he wanted to prove himself worthy to the Allfather. And Heimdall will spill blood in the name of Odin.

Tyr was in shock by his proclamation and stammered, “Wha—Tha—I—” the alcohol in his blood made itself known. “Okay boy, that's bold of you. Very bold indeed. You’ll make a fine soldier.” Tyr smiled and placed a hand on Heimdall’s shoulder. “Tell me boy, what is your name.”

“Heimdall.”

“Heimdall.”

“Heimdall.”

“H-E-I-M-D-A-L-L-!”

He was jolted awake by a slap.

Eyes fluttered open as he peered at the gathered crowd. The stinging on his face steadily rousing him.

A shadow loomed over him, the same fat noble stood before him. Dagger-like eyes glared at him. “It seemed the seer wanted to sleep.” the noble snarled.

He had fallen asleep, a crucial mistake. “How long was I gone?” asked Heimdall.

The noble snorted, his sagging face flaps undulated from the motion. “Don't worry seer, whilst you slept we have foraged and found berries. We killed some squirrels as well but they are for the children.” the nobles voice leaked of contempt.

Heimdall nodded. Using his vision he watched the draugrs and cursed. He was gone far longer than he first thought.

“We eat as we move, the draugrs draw near.” he commanded. Raising a hand to silence protests.

They reluctantly clambered to their feet. Their gaits unsteady as they walked over twigs and pebbles.

He had to push them, they've been on the run for three weeks now. He knows not how long they can keep running, there were only so many places you could hide a mass of people in Asgard.

They needed to leave Asgard. He knew Loki used to travel realms without using the bridge, but only the trickster knew of where they are.

Heimdall sauntered up a rock. Using his vision he watched the fifty draugrs tracking them—only three hours away. He considered fighting them. As suicidal as that sounds, it may be the only way to lose them. But doing so wouldn't only risk his life, but the lives of the refugees. If he falls in battle the untrained, disorganized rabble are easy pickings for them. He can't risk it, they'll have to keep running.

"We must move faster!"

A woman coughed, catching Heimdall’s attention. Her face was blackened by dirt, gown ripped at the hem continued towards her shin. She glanced at him with pleading eyes. "Heimdall, please we are tired. The children must rest. We must rest."

Heimdall wearily shook his head, "We may rest easy once we have found shelter and cover, we must not let Hela reach us."

He heard a growl, turning to the sound he came face-to-face with the same noble who slapped him. At first he thought the man was starving and looked poised to eat him. But when his vision cleared he saw the noble snarling at him.

"When?! When are we going to find the shelter and cover you keep talking about, Heimdall." the fat lord was apoplectic. His pudgy hands balled into fists. “You’ve been promising this for two weeks now. Two!” he snarled.

That sparked an outrage amongst the refugees as more and more voices began to speak and voice their opinions.

A younger refugee stepped forward, his sunken twisted to a scowl. "What's so bad about Hela? If we go to her we could feast, sleep with soft pillows and feathered beds. Why must we continue following you?"

Heimdall groans, the irritation present on his face made him look like a savage beast as his fiery orange eyes peered upon the crowd. "Enough!" he shouted. "Did you not see what she had done to the entire army of Asgard? How she had skewered their heads on the walls and fed their bodies to her wolf—"

"Well, that was because they were fighting her," the fat old lord with loose jowls retorted, enticing several nods of agreement amongst the anxious crowd. "If we go to her now and surrender maybe she'll spare us." they all nodded at the fools suggestion.

"Aye!" the young man bellowed and drew his club, "Why must we follow you Heimdall, you would just get us butchered."


	5. Tyrant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1&2 has been revise, re-read desired.

It was unnerving. Watching his fellow Asgardians getting put to death. But who was he to speak about their deaths when he was the one who shed their blood.

“Kill this man here, find that man there. Burn that village and give me their heads.”

All for what? Skurge swallowed back bitter bile. Digging holes into his gloves he shook his head.

He's only following orders, nothing more. It wasn't his fault. None of it was…

But no matter how much he denies it… it haunts him. Thinking about all those he has put to death, the families he broke apart. The children he traumatized. The atrocities he committed in her name. It followed him… everywhere he went.

Each day he dreaded waking up and meeting Hela, he is slowly losing his morality. He knows it. The savage animal in him, he can feel it. Hela is keen on unleashing it, even if it meant killing all her people to do it.

Glancing at her he could see that she was smiling, her inhumanly pearl white teeth glinting as she did. She terrified him, if she was able to kill her own people with no remorse he could only imagine what she would do to the poor world she turns her attention to.

He feels the skin of his palm, having torn into his leather gloves. A sharp sting followed by a familiar wetness fills his hands.

How much blood would he have to spill. How much longer can he do this… is death a better option than life.

He forced himself to look at the horror before him, at the damp red sand, at the scattered limbs and entrails. At the deaths he orchestrated. Fenris always left their heads, never eating them. Maybe it's a way of mocking him, to make him see their anguish, the twist of their mouth mimicking a silent scream, the widening of their eyes. Their look of utter horror knowing their last breath draws near.

It's not his fault…

Chairs and tables rattled as the drums pounded, declaring a new challenger.

The crowd roared, applause growing as the doors opened to reveal who is lucky enough to test their mettle against Fenris.

Light filtered through the dark corridor and the crowd went mad.

Now, it was special. Hela has grown bored of watching unnamed fodder fight her wolf. For this momentous occasion she was gifting the people of Asgard a sacrifice.

A God.

"Come God O' War, slay the beast!" The crowd roared. Amused by the spectacle before them, the God of War, Tyr was naked and bleeding, clutching a dagger and chains. The dagger he held couldn't even be called a dagger as it was a hastily sharpened butter knife, the chains were none the better as it was fashioned from mail armor.

Tyr stood in defiance, pointing his dagger at Hela, “You’re mad woman, pitting a bitch against me?” he hawked and spat thick white sputum. “after I kill your dog I’m coming for you next.” Finishing his defiant speech he walked towards the meat grinder—Fenris.

Fenris howled and sized up its opposition. Having never tasted god before it was keen on sampling the best cuisine of Asgard. Wagging its tail it shivered with excitement, blood dripping from its maw it snarled, growling it charged Tyr.

The crowd roared as Tyr narrowly avoided getting mauled by Fenris. Dropping his knife he clutched the chains and held it in front of him.

"Come on you mangy mutt!” Tyr bellowed, if he was afraid he hid it well.

Fenris answered his taunts and barked. Crouching low its muscles tensed, building power it honed bloodlusted eyes at Tyr with hyperfocus. Shaking from the tension it pounced towards Tyr who met it with a charge of his own.

Hela chuckled as the shrill screams of Tyr drowned out the roaring crowds.

Skurge feels eyes staring at him. Not now, not here. He wishes he can sneak away, like a coward. He is a coward, always have been and always will be.

“Skurge,” Hela spoke. “stop shaking in your boots, I can hear you over here.”

Shit. He hastily made a lie, “I—uh. I need to pee.” he turned to look at her, hands trembling, sweat cascaded from his bald head and stung his eyes.

Hela lazily glanced over his entire frame, examining him. She is suspicious, his excuse was dubious, even a dullard could see through it. He hopes to give nothing away, if he did… like last time. He quickly buried the scene in his mind, he can't bear to see it again.

“Hmm,” she steepled her hands, hiding her lips from view. “Very well. You have my permission to leave and relieve yourself.”

Skurge nodded and hastily made his way towards the exit, unable to bare standing next to her and hearing their shrieks.

The door closed shut, beside her she hears snickers and rattling, food and drinks spilled on the floor as the nobles laughed.

“Honestly Hela, why do you keep such a buffoon as company?”

She turned to the voice, rapping her fingers on her throne she stared at him. “You’re becoming too familiar with me, Ragnor.”

Ragnor grinned, ”It seems so, Hela.” the redness of his face pulsed brighter as he downed another cup of wine.

“I don't like that,”

Ragnor raised an eyebrow, ”Like what?”

Hela sucked her teeth, “It seems I’ve found Fenris a new toy.”

The redness of his face faded and turned bone white, “...w-what?”

“Seize him.”

A gangly bone hand grasped his shoulder and squeezed, breaking it.

“Argh—” he looked at Hela with big watery eyes. “Hela... please—”

Hela paid no heed to his pleas, “Cut off his tongue, his voice irritates me,”

Her draugrs dragged Ragnor from his chair and pinned the man to the ground. When Ragnor kept his mouth closed the draugr smashed a wine cup on his jaw, shattering it.

He screamed, making it easier for her soldiers to pry his mouth open. The tips of his lips ripped, the joint creaked and popped, jaw dislocating from the force.

The sharpened points of the draugr’s hand easily gripped the meaty appendage, exposing it with a firm tug.

“Stop,” she commanded, the draugrs froze in place. Looking around the banquet table she turned her attention towards the other nobles. “Let it be known, that I, Hela, Queen of Asgard, the Goddess of Death, am not your friend.” she paused, letting her words sink into their alcohol-addled minds. “I will not take lightly of anyone addressing anything other than ‘my Queen’. Let Ragnor be an example to those who disrespect me.”

The doors burst open. Whirling to face the intruder she saw that Skurge has returned.

His eyes widened, darting between Hela and the pinned Ragnor, “Uh… what’d I miss?”

“Skurge, how good of you to return.”

He blinked, looking uncomfortable, “...you want me... to do something…”

“How perceptive of you,” she gestured with her palm at Ragnor, “cut off his tongue Skurge.”

Ragnor thrashed below her draugr, “Mmmph!—”

“Go on, Skurge, make it quick.”

Skurge looked troubled and stood in place, staring at Hela his jaw tightened and his lips turned a fine line. He gave an apprehensive nod and made his way towards Ragnor, settling atop him, Skurge drew his knife.

“No,” said Hela, “use your hands.” she motioned with her hands, grasping air she tugged, mimicking the way farmers harvested vegetables.

“A-are you sure?”

She scoffed, “Very, now stop wasting time Skurge.”

Skurge’s bald head shimmered from sweat, big globs of salty liquid dripped on the ground creating puddles. She watched as Skurge removed his gloves, pinching the soft pink flesh he wrestled with Ragnor—who is intent on keeping his tongue.

Tugging once Ragnor’s eyes bulged, his throat rippled from the sudden motion. Writhing, Ragnor worked to free his arms and push Skurge off.

Skurge looked at her like a bewildered child.

Hela raised an eyebrow, “Don't tell me you can't do it?”

Gripping the tongue tighter he dug his nails and pulled once more. The muscle resisted, intent on sticking with Ragnor—who gagged as his airways were blocked.

“You’re doing it wrong, Skurge,” said Hela, “Apply the force at a slow controlled pace, don't violently tug it.”

Following her instructions he squeezed the tongue as hard as he could and pulled, exerting the force slowly, like shucking corn, moments later he heard the distinct sound something tearing. Ragnor flailed, his eyes and face turned beet-red, each breaths he drew sounded like guttural growls.

The tongue was slippery, his nails raked gorges upon it as he held the full length firmly. Centimeter by centimeter he pulled with a slow agonizing pace, ignoring the sight and sound of his savage and barbaric act.

Like picking vegetables he kept at it, veins throbbed and squirted blood, bone cracked as he rested his hand against Ragnor’s jaw. With a triumphant roar, he tugged with all his might, holding the muscle aloft like a grotesque trophy he broadcasted to all of Asgard how much of a monster he is.

“Very good Skurge,” Hela spoke as if she was congratulating a child. “Now take him to the healing room, Fenris has a new toy.”

Skurge nodded, the tongue flopped on the ground. Ragnor was now unconscious and choking in a sea of his own blood, Skurge turned him on his belly and smacked his back, not wanting the man to suffocate, knowing how much that would displease Hela.

He glanced at her and saw that she has already turned back to watch the arena. “I’ll be going now, my Queen.” Ragnor left a trail of blood as Skurge dragged him towards the healing room.

“Alright,” Hela addressed the nobles, “you lots are dismissed for the day, I surmised everyone has learned their lesson for today?”

The petrified nobles nodded and stood to leave.

Hela smiled and watched the next set of 'warriors' getting lined up to face her wolf, three bears this time.

It was her first time watching her darling Fenris fight in an arena. Odin always wanted to see the wolf tear into a pit of children but whenever he would suggest it to Hela, she always shut him down.

And Tyr surprised her. His right arm was long gone yet he still stood. Though he was close to his expiration date, he looked awfully pale and staggered with every step.

“Let it be known!” Tyr proclaimed, “That I will fall… but not as man… but as a god—”

The crowd roared as Fenris lunged forward, his dagger–like teeth tearing into Tyr’s legs. After he was rendered crippled, Fenris bit into his stomach and gobbled his entrails.

Hela wrinkled her nose, “So much for dying like a god.”

It amazed her how quickly Asgard took to accept their savage nature. Her father believed Asgard could change—that he could change. But seeing them cheer as the howls of death charged the air showed that she was right, Asgardians were more monster than people.

Odin desperately thought he could erase it from memory. She wanted to see him one more time so she could gloat, ”You can't change instinct as it is ingrained in nature.”

Leather boots clacked against marble and the doors opened.

"Any news from the hunt?" she fixed her gaze at her executioner.

"Yes," said Skurge.

The gate opened as the three bears came out running, charging the carcasses, wanting to feed.

Fenris howled and dashed towards them, tearing and eating the one unlucky enough to be in his path. It worried her to see how famished Fenris was, not caring about what he ate.

Hela waited for Skurge to speak, she tapped her fingers against her chair when Skurge stayed silent. "And? Come now, don't just stand there like a buffoon. Tell your Queen."

"Uh… oh-yes, the draugrs found corpses by the mountainside, they said that the bodies had been dead for several hours—two at most." Skurge stopped, thinking if he forgot anything. "Oh, the cause of death was inflicted by sword wounds.” he finished.

Hela smirked and steepled her fingers, "Interesting."

"Yes my Queen, there was one survivor. The fat lord called himself Magnus Magni, son of Magnuss."

The name piqued her interest, "Magnus Magni Magnussson? Very well, bring him to me." she gestured for Skurge to leave.

She glanced at him and saw Skurge giving her a questioning stare. ”Uh… do you want him here? Now?”

Hela blinked, "What?” she sighed and ground her teeth, "That's what I said. Now. Go.”

Skurge bowed. “Very well, my Queen.”

When Skurge left she continued to watch the festivities. Several old bastards came to speak to her—trying to gain her favor—she dismissed them. Their flowery words are meaningless to her, she should’ve killed them, but she still needed a competent court, she can't stand ruling Asgard alone.

Most of all she can't stand court life, she doesn't want to listen to farmers talk about their crops or hear gossips that one of the nobles have birthed a new brat. Those wrinkled bastards could do those for her.

She wants war, conquest, and battle. To hear the shrieks of her enemies as she plunged her swords deep in their heart. To hear them beg and grovel like little worms. She'll spare them of course, maybe remove an arm or two. Being maimed is a fate better than death after all

The door opened for what seemed like the millionth time. Skurge returned to her with a limping walrus, a very amusing sight.

“Leave us Skurge,”

She inclined her head and examined the specimen before her, a fat man with a bloated belly. She could have sworn his gut would fit a full grown man.

At that thought she smirked, if this creature proved to be useless she wanted to see if a man could truly fit in his belly.

"So," she started, "you're Magnus Magni Magnussson."

The fat lord dropped to his knees and groveled, "F-forgive me, my Queen—"

Hela huffed, ”Yes, yes you’re forgiven. Now, answer my question before I un-forgive you.”

The fat lord shrank, ”A-Aye, the they c-called Magnus Magni Magnussson.”

"And your father is Magnuss Magni Magnusson?"

"He is,”

"He was a great warrior, your father. I remember watching him tear apart a group of trolls with his bare hands once. I always admired his strength and bravery. Tell me Magnus son of Magnuss, are you as brave as your father?" Hela gazed lazily upon the fat kneeling lord.

"Y-yes."

A black blade flew towards him narrowly impaling him. Yellow fluid pooled beneath him, blood dribbled on the floor as the blade removed his ear.

She expected the fat fool to cry out in pain, but to her surprise he stayed still, uncaring for his lost appendage. He may be his father's son after all.

The faint whiff of shit permeated the room and Hela wrinkled her nose—maybe not.

“What are you? Three-thousand? Four-thousand?” asked Hela, “So why are you still shitting yourself.”

He stayed silent.

“Hmm, are you afraid of me?” she asked.

He gave a faint nod, "Y-yes my Queen."

“Your father was never afraid of anybody,” Hela thrummed her fingers against her throne, “but here you are… soft and broken, did daddy never train you?”

“N-no,”

Hela hummed at his answer, “I’ve grown bored of you—”

The doors burst open for the billionth time, Skurge stood in the doorway, he was sweating, eyes wide, his face seemed to have aged years ahead.

“This better be important—”

“Enemy ships have been detected, my Queen.”


	6. Divine Assistance I

Two minutes

It had been two minutes since he had woken up. How long he slept? He did not know.

But what he did know, was that those blood-curdling shrieks were starting to irritate him.

When he had woken, he examined where he rested upon and concluded that his body had been moved. But the sea of trash wasn't the glaring evidence of how he came to this conclusion—no—he knew because his clothes were missing. Some fool had stolen it whilst he was unconscious.

Standing, he walked towards the shrieks, deciding to investigate the source of it. He waded through the dump as naked as the day he was born; trash crunched beneath his feet, he had half-a-mind to stop and examine the strange objects around him, but those screams wouldn't let him think. He needed to silence whoever it is that dared disturb him before rummaging through the piles. Though, it is not befitting for a god to scour landfills for trinkets, his curious nature nagged for him to do so.

He wonders however, is how he was relocated in the sea of garbage. Last he remembered he was fighting the berser—no, the demigod near the coastline and him… _losinhpg_. His fury flared at that thought, balling his fists, he raked trenches in the palm of his hand and gnashed his teeth so hard he spat out several. He failed the test the Allfather had given him, which means no more jotün and that means the Allfather's promise of the knowledge of breaking his curse is gone… the hope he held of feeling after a century… gone… all gone. And it was all because of that jotün.

He couldn't even have the satisfaction of killing the fool himself as his father would have sent Thor and his nephews after it. But no, hope is not truly lost, he had another plan in mind. This time, he’ll return to Asgard and look for that witch, and when he does… He grinned savagely. He’s learned some new tricks, he can't wait to show mother _all_ of them.

  
Fury still sweltered in his mind, the demigod that incapacitated him was a curious case. A half-breed whelp, part-Aesir and… part- _jotün_. Blond of hair, big and strong, thunder and lightning. _Magnison_. It was so obvious, but during their battle he had been too preoccupied to realize who he was fighting

He had never heard of the bastard before, but with the amount of women Thorson had bed, he isn't surprised. The Magnison was a fierce warrior, he had to admit. He enjoyed fighting the demigod when it went berserk, but he is disappointed with how easily he broke it, if it wasn't for the Allfather mocking him and stacking the cards against him, he would've killed the fool. He’d be labeled kinslayer but Magni wouldn't care, as long as his balls still spit sap, a lost bastard is of no consequence.

The bastard wasn't as strong as his father without the berserker state, the way it controlled the weather, however. He could've sworn he was fighting his brother as thunder and lightning crackled and illuminated the darkened sky, even its mood affected the storm: winds whipped and cut his flesh, massive hails of ice rained on him and pelted his body, lightning charred his skin and cooked him through, kilometer wide cyclones dragged him from the ground and ragdolled him through the air. And those were only its elemental control, the berserker state boosted its weak and pathetic baseline strength ten-fold, not enough to overpower Baldur, but enough to be consequential to turn the tide of their battle. Though strong, Baldur lacked ranged weaponry, his light, rendered a cheap parlor trick in the air.

With his invulnerability he didn't need any weapons, he admit, his martial prowess had diminished over the last century. His brother was always better and stronger at fighting. But that does not mean he wasn't a renowned fighter, be-it: sword, spear, and bow he excelled in them all. But he grew complacent with his immortality and charged recklessly into battle, not thinking like a warrior, no strategy or tactics, fighting like a drunken brawler. If only he had a weapon when he faced that jotün or the demigod he would've easily won.

He clicked his tongue, that is what he lacked, a weapon. Despite being the strongest of all the gods even his brother needed Mjölnir and the Megingjörð. He needed something like that, and it had to be unique. He browsed his inner mindscape and thought of his weapon, hundreds of feasible designs and fighting styles, so many to choose. Chopping, he liked chopping. Yes. That would fit his fighting style, therefore an axe. He saw the way the jotün fought with it and he knew its versatility as a weapon. He didn't need it to be crafted by those dwarves, he already knew how to obtain one. With three Aesirs hunting that jotün he could ask Thor for the axe. It might take a little… _convincing_ but he’d get it in the end, and after he does, he’d rename it and rechristen it as _Stormbreaker_.

And the first thing he’d do with the axe is bury it deep in the head of that demigod. That is if it had returned to Asgard, if it's still in this rubbish place he’d tear this entire realm apart looking for it.

The shrieks increased in volume and intensity with every step, he was close. Stopping, he craned his head left, then right, hearing out the sound. His eyes fixated on a small mound of trash, the wails were louder behind it.

Climbing the small hill he stood and watched a brace of men with their breeches in their ankles, proudly showing erect cocks. They were a quaint bunch, their pale ashen skin reminded him of that jotün. One was tall and brawny, sporting a thick, rope-like scar on his back which ran from his tailbone to his shoulder blades. Brown, crusted streak of shit clung on his ragged, discolored drawers. The other, was missing fingers and half his nose, fibrous burn marks painted him from his arms and torso, He stood short and stocky, his legs, hideous and mis-shapened. Their eyes glazed, mouth hung open, dirt-caked faces bore lusted expressions. Their skin shimmered a slimy glint, flies buzzed and orbited them.

Baldur knew why they had crowded together, the one who screamed—a woman, lied on her back, through her ripped, yellow and orange dress he could see pale untouched flesh and small, well-shaped breasts. Fat globs of tears gleamed and cascaded down her face, leaving crusted salts as it dried in the sun. Through shaded eyes, he could see twin orbs of cerulean hue, big and wide, filled with fear. She writhed on the damp ground and raked her nails on garbage, desperately trying to crawl away, her muscles tensed, face turned red, limbs quaked as she attempted to break free of the binds that held her arms and legs together.

“Help me!” she shrieked.

“No one’s helping you,” the scarred one said, his slobber dribbling to the ground as he licked his lips.

The one with missing fingers bent down and ripped his breeches, he hobbled towards the woman. Grunting, he shoved the dirty article of clothing in her mouth.

He grinned, exposing crooked black teeth, ”We can't have you hollering, some might come and join the fun, I ain't sharing.”

”Not sharing?” the scarred man asked, ”I thought we were?”

The lame out shrugged, ”Must’ve forgot.”

The scarred man slit his eyes and gave his companion a sullen look.

What a disgusting site, Baldur thought. Like any god he disapproved of rape, he isn't a brute. His father couldn't care less, however, as long as they did it in his name and prayed to him The Allfather would forgive them: rape, stealing, pillaging. All forgiven when you call out ”For the Allfather!”

Leaving his perch, trash dislodged and rolled on the ground, alerting the mortals of his presence. They both turned and studied Baldur’s naked form. He can't blame them, he was meticulously carved to perfection in the womb, not a single flaw appeared on him when he was born. So perfect was he, that he glowed like a newborn star.

The lame one glowered at his presence, “See?” he addressed the woman, “What I tell you about screaming?”

“We ain't sharing,” the scarred one said.

Baldur smirked, “I’m not here for mortal flesh—”

“But I guess…” the lame one interrupted, he stared at the scarred one and nodded and went back to eye Baldur, “I guess you can stick it for a minute, not a second more. Just tell me where your stuff are.”

Baldur shook his head, “No.”

“Are you sure—”

“No,”

Like a belligerent child the man asked again, “How about—”

Baldur had enough of the man’s stubbornness and kicked the ground, hurling a piece of metal at the man, “I. Said. No.”

_Crack!_

The man fell to the ground, blood and brain matter seeped from the cracks of his skull. Rats squeaked and gnashed their teeth and charged the dead man in droves. Pearl white teeth tore into ashen flesh, a dozen entered through the gaping mouth and two worked to free the lodged metal from his skull.

“You killed Eddi!” The scarred one shrieked.

“And you’re next,” Baldur dashed towards the man, clamping his hand on his mouth he silenced screams. The pungent smell of rot and body odor emanated like a plague from the man. “Mortal, I have questions, and you will answer them. I will not take no for an answer.”

The man nodded and Baldur smirked, “Good—”

“Help me!” the woman shrieked, having removed the dirty gag from her mouth.

Baldur turned to glance at her and saw that the rats have finished their feast, now they flanked the woman. With her arms and legs bound she would be easy prey for them.

She looked at him, big watery eyes pleaded him to take action. “P-please.”

“—as I was saying,” he turned his attention back to the man, “First, tell me how long has it been since the rains?”

“F-Four days!” the woman hastily answered his question.

“Four…” he muttered under his breath. His hands trembled with rage, bones creaked and the man in his grasps flailed, he reached for Baldur’s eye and jabbed his finger in it.

Grasping the offending limb, Baldur wrenched it from his face, his eyebrows furrowed and lips curled to a snarl, “You shouldn't have done that.” With a swift jerk he tore the limb from its socket.

The man howled. Blood gushed from the wound and rats ran towards the deluge of liquid bathing themselves crimson. The man writhed in pain, his ashen face lost color, his eyes glazed and fluttered. Dropping the limb, Baldur grasped the man’s shoulder and cranked, head and spine separated with ease.

He only glowered. Killing these _creatures_ weren't even fun. Proving no challenge to the God of Light.

“Please help me!”

Turning away from the body he made his way towards the woman and stepped into the sea of rats, those crushed beneath his feet were cannibalized in seconds.

The woman sobbed and rolled, sharp claws dug trenches in her skin, “P-please, help.” she weakly said.

Gathering his power, azure tattoos pulsed and thrummed, “You might want to look away girl, lest you go blind.”

She stared at him with childlike wonder, he couldn't blame her, most mortals have never seen a god in the flesh. “O-okay.” she closed her eyes and buried her face in her elbow.

Baldur stood for a good thirty seconds and watched the rats. He didn't think his actions through, he forgot that this trick is quite harmless (with the exception of blindness) so now rats scampered around him, running like headless chickens, unable to perceive the world. They all crawled around him and the woman, those adventurous climbed his leg, he simply swatted them away.

It took a full minute for all the rats to disperse. When his light died out the woman bled from countless scratches and bites, the dazed and blinded rodents trampled her in their hysteria.

“T-thank you, for saving me,” she said, her voice hoarse and raw.

Baldur gave a hearty laugh. “I am a generous god.”

“Y-you’re Asgardian?”

“So you know who I am, good.” Baldur smirked, “Now that I have saved you I have questions, answer them—”

“P-please,” she said, “you have to help—no, save my brother. I-I know your strength, Asgardian, you have to help me find him.”

Baldur stopped and pondered the woman's words. The plights of mortals are of no concern to him, thousands have prayed and sacrificed to him and he didn't answer their pleas. But he needed knowledge, he could use a thrall to point him in the right direction.

“For me to help you find your brother, you're going to have to offer _me_ a sacrifice.”

The woman shrank, her brows furrowed, she chewed her lips and stared at the ground. “A s-sacrifice?” her breath hitches, “D-Do you want me to offer you an arm or a leg? Is that what you meant? You're m-mad, Asgardian—”

“You stuttering fool,” Baldur snapped, “I do not want your meat, and frankly, I don't know who ever will. No, I want your knowledge, I want to know of this place and its history. I ask questions and you answer them. It is that simple.”

She looked relieved at his tirade, but her relief vanished and her features turned hard, “W-Why didn't you say that in the first place?” she shouted hoarsely, “I-I’ll answer your questions. B-But in return, you have to help me find my brother.”

“You’re a insolent one, aren't you?” Baldur chuckled, this woman was already making demands. “Well, that is the first and only time I would allow you to raise your voice to a god, the next time you do. I’ll rip out your tongue.”

She was silent, lips turned to a fine line and looked at him with a level stare.

“Good,” Baldur clapped his hands together, he went to unbind the woman. Grabbing her arm he craned it and examined the scratches out of curiosity, it had clotted crimson, they were innumerable, from her fingers to her shoulders.

It would definitely leave fine scars, he mused.

He could heal her, he knew enough Seidr to do so, but why should he. Though he isn't the best at them unlike his… he did try to heal his horse when it had stumbled and broke a leg, Thor suggested to kill it and eat the meat but he ignored the big idiot and tried to save it. The charm didn't work so he had to go and beg the Allfather to heal it: “Like bone-sprain, so blood-sprain, so joint-sprain. Bone to bone, blood to blood, joints to joint, so may they be mended.” His father chanted, bones snapped back together and his horse gave a joyous neigh.

Thor still killed and ate it several days later.

She pulled her arm from his grasps. “W-What are you doing?” she asked, distressed by his actions.

He examined her face, split lip and a big purple bruise on her right cheek, but she is definitely a pretty one. But her features were interesting, as were all the other mortals he had met. Aside from the Magnison they looked nothing like the norsemen that plagued midgard. Their clothing as well, finely woven and brightly colored, made of materials he had never seen before. He tugged on the woman's torn clothing which elicited a shocked gasp, she shoved her hands in his face and worked to slither away.

“Get away from me!”

Grabbing her, he pins her to the ground, clamping a hand over her mouth. “Shut your mouth woman, I won't deal with any more screeching.”

Ignoring her writhing he continued to examine the fabric. Thin, light and durable he deduced, he wished he could feel what it felt like on his fingers. He imagined them to be smooth and soft, like silk.

“Now a vow,” he said, “Will you stop moving! Good.” He grabbed her fabric bindings, the flimsy material ripped with ease. He shook his head, mortals are weak and tiny pathetic little creatures. To struggle breaking such simple shackles, it is disgusting.

Her wrists and ankles were a painful shade of red, flakes of torn skin hung and fluttered in the wind, he thought about reaching for one and peeling it but he held his impulse.

Rubbing her wrists she eyed him carefully, still suspicious of his intent. “I thought… with you grabbing me…”

He caught on what she had intended to say, “I am not some depraved animal, mortal.” Due to his _curse_ he could never feel pleasure, thus never needing to relieve such urges. He tried once, with a peasant girl. Her poor father woke to see the mortal torn asunder.

“O-Okay… b-but w-why are you naked—”

“Now, where were we.” he interrupted, “Oh yes, the vow. Tell me, girl. What is your name.”

“H-Hana,” she said. “But why are you naked—”

“My, what a _heatehn_ name.” he smirked, “Well then, _Hana_. I, Baldur son of Odin, hereby vow to help you _find_ your brother, and in return you will be under my service, you will answer my questions, _never_ keep information from me and point me to the right direction. So what say you, mortal.” He stood to his full height, showing all his runic glory to the mortal.

She nodded listlessly, “Uh… okay… I guess.” she said, looking him up and down.

“You're a shameless whore,” he said, seeing her eyes linger a second too long on his perfect cock and balls.

She gave him an insolent look, “Your tattoos are disgusting, what are they even supposed to mean?”

He guffawed at her brazen statement. She is definitely a lively one.

_Thwack!_

He sent her to the ground with a swift backhand, “I will not have your tongue mortal, but keep this up and I will soon enough.”

Her glare was full of passion. Hints of regret showed on her face. He could see her mind formulating a response, he has to silence this impudent child. His hands balled into fists, arm cocked back. Standing over her, he casted a shadow on her lithe frame, muscles quivered and begged to be unleashed… yet… the way she looked before him, on her knees with tear-stained eyes… _mother_.

He hesitated, bringing his hands back down to rest beside him he looked at her with a predatory gaze, “I am a generous god.” he repeated, a pathetic lie to cover his cowardice.

She averted her gaze, “W-Whatever you say, but you still need clothes.”

There were still hints of defiance in her shadowed eyes. He couldn't understand her, this mortal. Why is she still belligerent, she knows what would happen if she brought the ire of a god. He un-clenched his fists and gave a tired sigh, mortals are difficult creatures to understand.

Clearing her throat she spoke, “W-We should return to my home for now.”

“Then let us go, mortal.”

The walk to her home was a somber and silent affair. The woman only brooded and puttered. He walked a few paces ahead of her, instincts honed from several lifetimes longer than mortals told him that she had brought her brooding gaze upon the back of his head. In short, she stared so hard that he felt it.

They both stopped in their tracks.

“Stop it.”

“It looks like you have a rat hanging on the back of your head.”

Oh. “Does my hair disturb _you_.”

“No, it disgusts me.”

Wheeling himself around he debated killing her right then and there. A thousand more mortals could replace her and be a hundred-fold more obedient, but he couldn't be bothered to find another, more submissive thrall. He will _begrudgingly_  settle with her for now and work on re-educating her, if she proves to be too stubborn he’ll kill her.

Walking towards her he plucked a hand.

_Crack!_

She fell to her knees clutching a finger.

“You're fearless,” his voice was a malicious whisper, grabbed her chin and stared her in the eyes, “But I will give you something to fear.”

This mortal needed to learn that his patience and kindness has limits. That those who dares invoke the wrath of a god would be brought unimaginable horrors: mind, body, soul. Each are simple playthings to gods.

A whirring noise sounded in the air. Baldur glowered, another one of the peculiar boats those mortals use have dared to challenge him. It does not matter, he’ll deal with it.

“A scrapper,” the woman said, having already finished licking her wounds, “we should move, back to my slums. They can't touch us there.” She moved to grab his arm and he swatted it back. “What are you doing? We have to move.”

“Then run, like a craven. But I, will deal with these gnats.”

“Are you insane?” she said impatiently, “I know you Asgardians are durable but once those scrappers get you tangled in their nets you're either food or to be sold as a champion, with your origin I’m more inclined to think they’ll choose to sell you.”

He stood unperturbed by her statements, three dozen mortals lay rotting in a sea of garbage, their boats rendered slags.

A pair flew towards them, their contraptions that shoot light pointed at him. Tattoos flickered to life and he lunged towards the nearest boat, the collision with his body set it ablaze. Landing with a crash he dashed towards a hunk of metal, hefting it he hurled the massive slag straight at the second boat. It twisted in the air, avoiding to suffer the same fate the first one had, seeing him too costly to capture it turned back and retreated to live another day.

That is if Baldur was feeling merciful, but today he wasn't.

He crouched low, digging his feet into soil his muscles coiled like springs and begged to be released. Launching himself to pursue the vessel, the earth behind him sheared and cratered, creating massive hills of dirt and flung trash meters back. With pinpoint accuracy he struck it straight through, the hulking vessel bursts into flames, acrid fumes seared his lungs and cooked his eyes.

In the air he twists and twirled, angling himself, he landed to the ground with his knees and a hand.

“Pathetic,” he said, disgusted by how easily their metal crumbled before his mighty fists.

The vessels the mortals have in this realm is quite peculiar, to be able to fly without wings. He isn't surprised, his brother flew a _goat_ driven chariot, but what intrigued him was how they were able to fly. One drunken night he heard Mimir tell a story long ago about a place far away, with plains and highlands that stretches from end to end, being too drunk to listen he paid no heed to the fool’s blabbering, but through the wine and mead he recalled something about a creature with elf-like ears that can imbue beings with flight and steal children from their homes. Maybe those creatures live in this realm.

Hearing footsteps behind him he twirled and took a fighting stance. Finding disappointment when the woman’s ragged figure emerged. “How did you get here?”

“I ran.”

He grits his teeth, “You’re trying my patience girl.”

Killing her or any more mortals would undoubtedly bring attention to himself, that is if his battle with the demigod hadn't already. If he truly is in another realm, far from the nine realms that would mean another pantheon owns this land. Divine Politics, he hated it. Unlike his brother, Tyr, he had never travelled outside the nine realms and had little knowledge about all the other pantheons. Thor—the big idiot—had wanted to join Tyr and travel to Greece, blabbering something about slaying the giants—or was it titans—that lived there. He supposed that his brother would have succeeded on doing so, as a renowned giant slayer Thor wouldn't have had too much trouble.

Baldur didn't see the appeal of traveling to other realms, but since he had apparently landed on a foreign land he should take advantage of this situation. He’d follow what Tyr had done and be diplomatic if he ever meets the gods that lives here, he would ask for help and guidance back to the nine realms. If they decide to rid off him using violence… well… A savage grin twisted on his face, the _heathens_ would learn to pray to a new god.


End file.
